


how to defeat a warlord

by quietmoon



Series: megop week 2020 [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Healing, M/M, Sappy, Self-Reflection, his husband (as always) can be found sulking, optimus wants to pamper his husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietmoon/pseuds/quietmoon
Summary: Megatron remembers a few joors into the cycle that today is his nameday.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: megop week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824118
Comments: 21
Kudos: 152
Collections: MegOP Week 2020





	how to defeat a warlord

**Author's Note:**

> [prompt](https://megop.tumblr.com/post/188937997837/the-results-have-been-calculated-megop-week-will): soulmate ([insp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1t_lMSx1vo))
> 
> this is inspired more by the idea of soulmates rather than an expicit au. i love fuzzy megops ; u ;

Megatron remembers a few joors into the cycle that today is his nameday.

It is a significant date in his personal history, twice over: the day he left his government-assigned designation behind, and took on the mantle of Megatronus; and the same day, vorns later, when he shortened it to Megatron.

He thinks of it as a bad day, an event to be remembered only for the mistake that it was, that it led to — certainly not something to be celebrated. That day, when he became Megatron… He thinks of it as the beginning of the end, in many ways. Not that he’d go back and change it if given the choice — things happening the way they did are what led him here, after all — but it is… if not something he necessarily regrets doing, something to be a little… ashamed of, at least.

Optimus is distant in the morning. He’s up before Megatron even rolls out of berth, clattering around their shared berth-suite as he gets ready for the day. He seems to be in a rush when Megatron questions him, rushing through a rudimental polish as he distractedly checks his chronometer. By the time Megatron is awake enough to notice Optimus’ diverted attention, his conjunx is already out the door with a hurried, “See you this evening,” and a chaste kiss against Megatron’s faceplate.

He didn’t make too much of it, initially. The stresses of daily life can take their toll. It is only later that he remembers it is his nameday, and begins to assume Optimus’ behaviour can be attributed to that. He’s surely aware of it, it being as significant to their personal history as it is to Cybertron’s, and probably feels a bit awkward about it.

Megatron ruminates on this as he walks to his governmental office.

It’s the day he declared war on him and all his people, after all; a war that lasted millennia, devastated not only their planet but their entire species, and held within it truly innumerable attempts on Optimus’ life.

It cracks a tiny smile out of him. But then the weight of his thoughts catch up, and it drops off his face as he pushes his office door open. He shouldn’t laugh about it — even if Optimus likes to, on occasion.

Megatron spends the day sulking. Not purposefully, of course, but it’s in his nature. He tries to put the thoughts of his nameday and associated drama into background processes, determined to go about his duties as Lord Protector with the care and attention they demand, but an ordinary mid-cycle shift is not nearly intense enough to engage his processors at even half capacity.

Lord Protector is a strange title, but he’s settling into it comfortably enough. It’s the name collectively agreed to supercede the previous title of Leader of the Decepticons, now that the factions are no longer formally separate. It’s a good few vorns into long-term peacetime already, so the more exciting parts of his job — strategic military planning and war-mongering — are long put to berth. Nowadays, he settles disputes in the courts of Kaon, he oversees the police and enforcer work in the habited cities, he does his weekly check of the resource allocation… The boring every day work that, despite its monotony, gives him a strong sense of justice regardless. It is rewarding to see his friends and people — all of them — living in peace.

It is an odd day, however. He does not see any of his friends. It’s strange, but even Soundwave seems to be avoiding him — and they usually work so close they’ll take their energon breaks together. He doesn’t see him in his office though, nor Starscream.

As he said… odd.

Megatron wonders, as he stares out the high-rise transparasteel, if it might not be for the same reason Optimus was acting strangely around him. He can’t help but be a little hurt. He knows he has no right to be — of course nobody is feeling great on the anniversary of the metaphorical birth of the warlord who brought their people to near extinction — but it isn’t as if anyone took note of the previous namedays.

The cycling thoughts are similarly relegated to background processing.

When he returns to his and Optimus’ hab-suite that evening, it is with an admittedy heavy spark. _It’s just one of those days,_ Megatron figures.

He has fewer of them now. The passage of time has softened that deep roaring wound of guilt in his spark so that it does not bleed as often, doesn’t threaten to drown him in it. But he still has days when the weight of all he has done, all he has brought about, is heavy. There are still days, few they may be, when the darkness encroaches on him.

Optimus helps immeasurably in dealing with it all.

How grateful Megatron is to have him by his side. He always has been, of course, be it on one side of the battlefield or the other. But now Optimus isn’t forced to be there by necessity or duty — he elects to be, day in and day out. He chooses to live by Megatron’s side; to help him carry the weight of the past, even though he doesn’t have to, to tend to the old mech’s wounds and cradle his weary spark as if it is some precious thing.

Even in the safe privacy of his own processor, Megatron cannot begin to put into words how much he loves that stupid, noble Prime.

He thought he knew love with Orion Pax. And he did, of a sort: a burning blaze of love, loud and sharp and heated, with edges that could cut. And during the war, that long endless war that finally met its blessed end, with the Prime, he knew that same love as a grating, dark, brooding thing — a mixture of lust and hate and pining that threatened to overtake every sense.

But with Optimus, in this long peace after the long war, his spark has found new depths of appreciation for his beloved, deeper than he could have ever imagined. The fierce flame of their youth is still there, the teasing and the laughter and the desperation — particularly in the berth. Megatron hides his smile behind a servo as he begins to climb the steps to their hab-suite.

Optimus can handle so much more with that great strong frame of his, can _give_ so much more now. Rediscovering each other aknew was a privilege; getting to _keep_ it, though… It is beyond humbling.

And the roiling darkness may have retracted its barbed vines, but they don’t argue any less for it. Their fights just don’t… threaten constant bloodshed anymore. Arguing with Optimus is something Megatron has found he looks forward to, dearly; their minds truly reflect each other, ideas clicking like corresponding gears. The intellectual stimulation is as much of a delight as the physical is.

Both, he tasted before, in the past long gone. But this new understanding, this spark-deep respect, a _trust_ that can only be gained through experience and shared pain and shared patience… The knowledge that they can survive anything together — it colours his life now.

The reminders are all around him. Megatron is just having a bad day. It is not a bad life.

He sighs to himself, a small smile on his lips, and switches on the light for their hab-suite.

Distracted by the sudden airhorns and yells of “Surprise!”, Megatron only realises a nano-klik later than he’s in a defensive pose with his fully-charged fusion cannon raised in threat. All his battle systems are online and active. Delayed, a floating trail of coloured aluminium streamers land one of his spiked pauldrons.

There’s a moment, the length of a sparkthrum, where everyone stares at him blankly. Then, many burst into laughter.

Optimus is standing in the middle of the room with his arms outstretched, a huge grin plastered on his face. “Happy nameday!” he declares, gesturing around grandly. “We have engex, we have your favourite processed energon, there are rust sticks, some Kaonian snacks Shockwave and Soundwave baked, lots of good things! And after we dine we shall begin with the presents—” He cuts off, and his smile slips. “Megatron?”

Megatron’s arm is back by his side, battle systems falling back into hibernation, but the stricken expression doesn’t fall from his faceplates as he looks around the room. His spark feels— _strange._

Too much. It’s just… too much.

Everyone is here. Primus, is that a human-styled party hat on Shockwave’s helm? Starscream is wearing a golden crown made of aluminium; it’s already a little crumpled, but he sports it proudly. Jazz is stood by Soundwave’s side, an arm slung around him, as he strikes a strange pose with one of his servos finger-gunning at Megatron, visor winking. And Soundwave himself has all of his tentacles raised in the air, each holding up an array of colourful streamers and strings of lights. His faceplate is flashing Megatron’s age, all digits past the eighth not fitting on screen.

As Megatron looks around the room, he sees more mechs than he ever would have expected to. Knock Out and Breakdown seem to be monitoring the snack table, with the former in a similar pose to Jazz. Smokescreen stands on the table behind them, arms outstretched as he yells excitedly; Bumblebee seems to be trying to get him down. There’s Bulkhead, Wheeljack, the odd Vehicon, various staff from the Nemesis… Even Arcee is dressed up, an off-kilter party hat on her helm and her hip cocked to the side. She doesn’t look best pleased, but the smile aimed his way is genuine enough.

Megatron’s eyebrows draw together as his gaze settles back on Optimus, who is looking at him with a worried expression.

He takes a deep invent. His spark threatens to burst, almost painful in its chamber as it spins on every axis. Shaking slightly, he cycles his optics shut, and ducks his helm. He can hear Optimus cross the room to him as the crowd quietens slightly, noticing Megatron’s reaction. He wishes he could control it, if only just calm that overwhelming feeling of fullness in his spark at least, but—

“What is it, Megatron?” Optimus’ servos hold one of his between them. His fingers stroke comfortingly across Megatron’s knuckles. “Have we upset you? I’m so sorry if we have, I knew you are not one for such events, but I thought you might like— And everyone wanted to so badly—”

But Megatron is shaking his head.

“No?” Optimus prompts, voice falling so that it can only be heard between the two of them. “Then, what is it?”

Megatron worries that if he tries to speak, the static in his voice box will cause a break in his voice. That feeling, that overwhelming emotion that swelled in him the moment he understood what was happening, threatens to consume him completely. But it doesn’t feel bad. No, it isn’t _bad._

He onlines his visual feed and looks down into bright blue optics, eyebrows drawn together. “I—” He tries, before shaking his head, and ducking his helm down again so as to hide in Optimus’ shadow from the gathered crowd. “Thank you, Optimus. Thank you. I am…” But no words can do it justice.

Understanding dawns in Optimus’ optics, and his expression becomes painfully tender as his brow falls and lips tilt up. Servos come up to cradle Megatron’s face and he laughs in that deep timbre, gaze narrowed in fondness. “Oh, sweet one,” he murmurs, half-chuckling.

Megatron leans into the comfortable warmth of his conjunx’s hand against his helm. He looks around the room once more and notices a fair few expressions of affectionate amusement in the crowd. Soundwave beeps with a sound Megatron has come to associate with the equivalent of a hug, and it makes him laugh under his breath.

“Thank you,” he says, louder, “everyone. I…”

But he can’t look at them for longer than a nano-klik. Truly overwhelmed, Megatron leans forward to tuck his face into the crook of Optimus’ shoulder. Optimus strokes his helm affectionately, an audio finial flicking down to tease at his cheek. And Megatron just ducks down lower, feeling his own frame trembling in Optimus’ hold.

How embarrassing. The great and ancient Lord Megatron, reduced to a weak mess by a surprise nameday party.

“You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” Optimus whispers to him, eliciting an unintentional shiver from his conjunx. Soft lips press against his helm. “Happy nameday, sweet one.”

“Shut the frag up, Prime,” Megatron tries to snarl back. It comes out more of a mumble, in just as soft a tone. _Oh, how far he has fallen, indeed._

Optimus, as always, hears what Megatron cannot say. His laugh shakes them both. “I love you, too,” he says, and his servos tighten around Megatron’s frame.


End file.
